Pushing The Limits
by WanderlustWitch08
Summary: Hermione, Harry, and Ron are at Malfoy's Manor, and it's all of their nightmares come true. Torture, Voldemort, and enemies clashing. But what happens when Malfoy starts to blur those lines? (NEW VERSION, I got locked out of my old account by accident!) [Non-DH-Compliant, eventual HGxDM]
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I obviously don't own rights to HP, but I took a lot of dialogue straight from the book for this first chapter. From the end of this chapter and on, this story will not be DH-compliant, except for occasionally. This is just an idea that's been in my head for a while, with no real direction one way or another, so enjoy it as it comes, and let the chips fall where they may. Also, as a sidenote, I've always been attached to the idea of a softer Malfoy when the spotlight isn't on him, so he will, at times, be out of character. **

**I'd also like to state that I have been locked out of my old account, CarcinogenRush, because I created it with an email that was later hacked, and cannot recover the login information. I have copied and moved this story to my new account here. Enjoy!**

* * *

It starts with three people being dragged into the drawing room, hands tied behind their backs. Instantly, I recognize the mop of ginger hair and the somewhat-tamed but still out-of-control bushy brown hair. The third, I know by context clues alone; his face is swollen and marred by what can only be a stinging jinx. His company is what gives him away. _Potter._

"Draco, come here," my mother commands me. I rise slowly from the chair tucked into the corner, stomach dropping. Greyback pushes Potter toward me, and I can see one distinguishable eye within the swollen splotches on his face.

"Well, boy?" Greyback asks. I eye his pink, swollen face and greasy long hair with distaste. Potter does not meet my eyes.

"Well, Draco?" my father asks. "Is it Harry Potter?"

"I can't-I can't be sure," I lie. I avoid looking at him more than I have to; I cannot say why I have not given up his identity, but I cannot bring myself to do so. From his side, I hear Weasley panting and Granger whimpering.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" my father urges me, unable to mask his giddy excitement. I know what he is thinking-Potter is the key to our name regaining its good standing. "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv-,"

"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" Greyback asks. His voice sends shivers down my spine.

"Of course not, of course not!" father says, waving a hand in annoyance. "What did you do to him?" he asks Greyback as he scrutinizes Potter's face.

"That wasn't us."

"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," father agrees. His eyes land on Potter's forehead, and widen. "There's something there. It could be the scar, stretched tight…Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

Reluctantly, I draw closer, coming to stand beside my father. In the mirror behind Potter's head, I see the two of us, carbon copies. The only difference is that my father is rabid with excitement, and I wish to disappear into the floorboards.

"I don't know," I say again, leaving my father's side and going to stand by my mother.

"We had better be certain, Lucius," my mother tells him. "Completely sure that this is Potter before we summon the Dark Lord." She holds a wand in her hand, eyeing it as she speaks. "They say this is his, but it does not resemble Ollivander's description. If we are mistaken…if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing…remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?" she asks, reminding us of the torture to which the two men were subjected. This house has seen some horrors in its time.

"What about the mudblood, then?" Greyback asks. He eyes Granger with an appraising eye as light washes over her terrified face.

"Wait," mother says, "Yes-yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

"I…maybe…yeah," I mumble, unwilling to give them away. Her hazel eyes are more wide and frightened than I've ever seen.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" father shouts, quickly crossing over to Weaasley. "It's them, Potter's friends. Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name-?"

"Yeah," I repeat, turning away from them. "It could be." Of course it is, father, look at them. They're more disgusting and defeated than I've ever seen them, but the Golden Trio of Hogwarts stands in my manor nonetheless, all at the mercy of Death Eaters. I would laugh, if I wasn't so terrified.

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?" a soft voice calls out. My heart begins to thrum violently at the arrival of my aunt. The arrival of Bellatrix Lestrange never bodes well for anyone, Death Eater or not. She stops dead, staring at Granger, and her eyes glint. "But surely this is the mudblood girl? This is Granger?"

"Yes, yes, it's Granger!" my father exclaims, equal parts exasperated and excted. "And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!"

"Potter?" she shrieks, backing up. She examines him slowly and carefully. "Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!" She pulls back her left sleeve, and the Dark Mark stands out like a beacon of darkness against her pale skin. She raises a hand, ready to summon _him_, and I tense up. I have seen more of the Dark Lord in the past year than I have ever wanted, and part of me wants Potter dead just so that I can get back to my normal life. Of course, with Potter dead, I'll never be away from the Death Eater life. Trapped, no matter what.

"I was about to call him!" father snaps, grabbing hold of Aunt Bellatrix's arm. "I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and therefore it is upon my authority-,"

"Your authority!" she laughs, trying to pull out of my father's grip. It's futile, Aunt Bella, believe me. Been there, done that. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off of me!"

"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy-,"

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," Greyback interrupts, "but it's us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold-,"

"Gold!" Aunt Bella spits, laughing as she continues to try to pull out of my father's hold. She reaches into her pockets, looking for her wand. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his-of…" She stops moving suddenly, staring off at something. I follow her gaze, and then look back at my father, who is preparing to summon the Dark Lord. "STOP!" Aunt Bella screams. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!" Father pauses, hand extended over his mark, as Aunt Bella approaches a snatcher. The air is tense and heavy as we watch.

"What is that?" she asks.

"Sword," grunts the snatcher.

"Give it to me," she commands him.

"It's not yours, missus, it's mine, I reckon. I found it." Instantly, with a loud bang and a red flash, the Snatcher lays Stunned on the ground. Scabior draws his wand with an angry yell.

"What do you think you're playing at, woman?"

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" she screams, cursing four Snatchers in an instant. Only Greyback remains conscious, kneeling with his hands up in a mercy position. Aunt Bella strides over to him, gripping a sword tightly. Rubies glint from within the metal. "Where did you get this sword?" she demands, ripping his wand from his hands.

"How dare you? Release me, woman!"

"Where did you find this sword?" she yells, brandishing the sword around his face. "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"

"It was in their tent!" Greyback says hoarsely. "Release me, I say!" Absently, Aunt Bella waves her wand and Greyback scrambles backward, clutching tightly to the back of an armchair.

"Draco, move this scum outside," Aunt Bella commands me, motioning to the unconscious Snatchers. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me." I grit my teeth. _Bitch._

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like-," my mother begins. She is cut off by a furious scream from Aunt Bella.

"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!" She looks particularly insane as she stands, wand in one hand, sword in the other, panting. She stares first at the sword, and then at the trio. "If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed." She speaks so quietly, I cannot tell if we are the intended audience or not. "The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself…but if he finds out…I must…I must know…" She whips around to face my mother again, glaring at me. I shake my head, levitate the Snatchers, and guide them outside.

I walk slowly, unwilling to rejoin that nightmare inside. Even when I am in my own home, the Golden Trio manages to meddle in my life and turn it upside down. I doubt if I'll ever have a moment's peace again. I glance over my shoulder and then hide the four bodies in between a tall row of bushes. They can be somebody else's issue; I'm not in the business of murder. With a sigh, I head back into the drawing room. I enter, and then stop in the doorway. Potter and Weasley are gone, but Granger is still there. She stares at me, terror in her eyes, as Aunt Bella stalks around her in circles, he small, coveted dagger in hand. Mother motions for me to join her, and I quickly walk to the fireplace where she stands, watching her sister.

"What is she doing?" I whisper, trying not to move my lips.

"It would seem the mudblood stole from her vault," mother responds.

"Of course she would, not like muggles have anything worth value," father sneers. "Maybe she thought she could establish herself as a witch if she had something to set her apart." My brow furrows as they speak. Granger is no angel, but she wouldn't steal from another witches' vault, no matter what it was. Would she? I am shaken from my thoughts as Aunt Bella sends Granger to the floor, sprawled on her back. Aunt Bella climbs on top off her, straddling her body, and extends her right arm straight out. Before I can look away, the tip of the dagger meets Granger's skin and she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

"I'll teach you to steal from me, you filthy mudblood!" Aunt Bella howls as she carves into Granger. Their screams mingle together and echo off of the beams in the ceiling. Panting, Aunt Bella draws her wand, dagger cast aside. "What else did you take, what else? CRUCIO!" Granger writhes on the floor and I am almost positive her screams are going to kill her. I step forward to stop my aunt and my mother takes hold of my arm.

"No, Draco," she says softly. "This is the price that must be paid."

"But…" I begin weakly. At the hardened look on my mother's face, I fall silent, and stare at the scuffed tips of my shoes. Three more times, she curses Granger.

"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?" Aunt Bella screams.

"We only met him tonight" Granger gasps through sobs. "We've never been inside your vault! It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!" It is difficult to hear Granger speaking, so broken down and lacking all of her usual annoying confidence.

"A copy?" Aunt Bella screeches. "Oh, a likely story!"

"But we can find out easily!" father advises. "Draco, fetch the goblin. He can tell us whether the sword is real or not!" I make a face but drag myself past Granger and down the cellar stairs.

"Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything or I'll-I'll kill you!" I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I do not feel the conviction in myself. For whatever reason, seeing the trio here has shaken me more than most of the things I've seen happen in my home. However, they must believe me, because the door opens and I am able to retrieve the goblin-Griphook?-without issues. I take him by the arm and we march back up and into the drawing room. By the time we return, Aunt Bella has begun her torture again and Granger is howling on the floor, tears pouring down her face. Standing again, Aunt Bella says,

"Well? Is this the true sword?" Griphook takes the sword and examines it closely. We are all holding our breath, waiting for his answer. Finally, he hands it back to her.

"No," the goblin says, "It is a fake."

"Are you sure? Quite sure?"

"Yes," he asserts. Aunt Bella sighs with relief and then flicks her wand. Immediately, Griphook falls, clutching a gash in his cheek. She kicks him aside and says,

"And now, we call the Dark Lord!" She grabs hold of her Dark Mark, and all around the room, we grab our arms as they burn. I let out a low hiss of pain. I doubt if I'll ever get used to the feeling of acid on my skin. "And I think we can dispose of the mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her." My head snaps up, and I glance at Aunt Bella, horrified. Greyback is known for insatiable hungers of all kinds, and it is a miserly way to end. He approaches her hungrily, a grin on his filthy face. I know exactly what he intends to do, and I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. She tries to fight as he draws nearer, but cannot beyond a cracked whisper.

"No," she says, turning her head. Her eyes lock with mine, and there is a desperation there that I have never seen before. "Please," she whispers, and I know it is meant for me. At that moment, Weasley and Potter burst through the door, and spells begin to ricochet. In the chaos, I stun Greyback, grab Granger, and pull her away. Potter and I meet eyes for just long enough that I am able to jerk my head in the direction I am going. Potter nods, and I know he understands to find me. I must be losing my mind.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Aunt Bella screeches, casting as spell as she glances my way.

"I-I wanted a turn first!" I shout back, nodding at Granger. "You know, retribution for our time at Hogwarts!" It sounds ridiculous as I speak, but Aunt Bella's face breaks into a grin.

"You'll make a Death Eater yet, boy!" she cackles. I feel ill at her joy. "Go, now!" Without another word, I hoist Granger's limp body and run through a hidden room and down a long hallway. After a moment, it is silent except for the ringing in my ears and the whimpering from Granger. I wave my wand silently and the wall separates to let us into a hidden portion of the home.

"Come on, Granger," I say, resting her on a couch. "You have to get up." She does not move, and I survey her. As her arm drops over the edge of the couch, I catch sight of my aunt's work: MUDBLOOD, carved into her skin and dripping ruby red. Despite the times I have called Granger that same name, this feels different, more vicious. I swallow hard and look away. At the sound of a pounding fist against a window, I whirl around to see Potter and Weasley, eyes wild with fear and fury. I open the window to allow them in and immediately, they begin screaming.

"YOUR BLOODY FAMILY-,"

"HOW DARE YOU-,"

"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM-,"

"WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HERMIONE-,"

"-KILL YOU, MALFOY!"

They both pause, chests heaving as they glare at me. I eye them coldly.

"Are you finished?" I ask in a bored drawl. "I mean, continue on if you want to, but if _I_ were you, I'd focus on the bigger issues, like the fact that you're number one pal is on his way to kill you and torture you mu-,"

"-watch it-," Weasley growls.

"-ggleborn princess," I finish, ignoring the interruption. Potter grits his teeth, and I can see him fighting the urge to continue shouting. Instead, he looks past me, over to the couch where Granger is still motionless.

"He's right, Harry," Weasley says, "as much as I hate to say it. The ferret's right. If we don't get out now-,"

"We won't get out at all," Potter finishes. "Do you have the bag?" Weasley holds up a beaded bag, nodding. It seems entirely unexceptional, and I am curious in spite of myself.

"Nice purse, Weasel," I sneer. "Do you have the dress to go with it?"

"Piss off, ferret," Weasley snaps. His face softens as he looks at Granger. "We've gotta get going," he says.

"Malfoy, how do we get out of here?" Potter asks.

"There are anti-apparation wards up," I tell him. "You know, to keep the riff-raff at bay. Of course, when they're specifically brought her…"

"Malfoy," Potter growls warningly. I roll my eyes.

"Out the window you came in, through the courtyard. Take the fourth aisle of rosebushes, it'll lead you straight to an old gate that has no guard. It's your only chance out of here. I'd grab the girl and run. Not that I wouldn't mind if you stuck around to face your buddy, it might make things more interesting."

"Yeah, I'm sure it gets really boring here, with only tortured prisoners to watch," Weasley says angrily. "Bloody git," he adds in a mutter.

"Get out of here before I change my mind," I snap back. Weasley pushes past me to grab Granger, and then jerks his head at me.

"C'mon, Harry," he says. Potter starts to leave, and then comes back over to me.

"Why'd you do it?" he asks me. "Not rat us out, I mean."

"Don't go all soft on me, Potter," I say with an eyeroll. "I was saving my own ass as much as yours. Now get out, I'm not telling you again." Without another word, they leave and I am left alone in the room. I go back out to rejoin the rest of the Death Eaters in the drawing room. The screams of rage meet my ears before I enter the room and my heart stops. He's here, and he's angry. I enter silently, surveying the kneeling followers whom he has just tortured, and he rounds on me, scarlet eyes burning.

"And the young Mr. Malfoy returns!" he greets coldly. "Running away?"

"Discarding the mudblood, my lord," I whisper. "Granger is dead." I feel him trying to get into my mind, and I think only of her motionless body and the bushes where I dumped the other four. He breaks into a grin and begins to laught. The laughs echo off of the wals and fill my head until it's all that I can hear.

* * *

I lay on my back, arms behind my head, and stare at the green canopy draping above my bed. Over and over again, the day plays in my head. The chaos, the adrenaline, the screams from Granger…the terror in her eyes, the way she pleaded with me. And, of course, the Machismo Twins, bursting in like heroes.

"_Why'd you do it?"_

I don't know, Potter. Why do you have to question everything? Don't you think I've been asking myself that same question? Why did I defy my family to their faces? Why did I lie straight to the one man who can destroy us, destroy everything? And for a mudblooded girl who has been a constant thorn in my side for 7 years? With an irritated huff, I flop onto my side and stare bitterly at the wall. Only when I hear a tapping at my window do I move from my position. I find a small, puffy owl flapping its wings wildly to stay aloft. A tiny scrap of paper is tied to its leg. I grab the bird, pull it inside quickly before it can be seen, and untie the grimy parchment.

"_12 Grimmauld Place. If you change your mind. HHR."_ The moment I've read it, it alights and burns into ash.

It would appear that Potter is extending an olive branch. I snort humorlessly and put my candles out. The room is engulfed in darkness, and I lay motionless on my bed once again.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out, sleep doesn't come easily when your house has been turned into Death Eater Central. I cannot remember the last time I have gotten a full night's sleep; my best guess is some time toward the beginning of fourth year, before that damn Quidditch World Cup incident. After that Dark Mark was sent into the sky, I knew that was going to be the end of my life as I knew it, and I was right. There has not been a peaceful moment since; or, as peaceful as the Malfoys can be. "Peaceful" isn't quite the moniker I'd attach to my family. "Chaotic," "dysfunctional," or "together out of a sense of duty," might fit better. This is, of course, not the face we show in public. To anyone on the outside looking in, we are a tightly-knit family. Cold, aloof, or haughty even, but a solid group of pureblooded heirs. When you're a pureblood, all of those negative descriptors tend to melt away. Except…

Except there was nothing dirty about Granger's blood as it dripped down her arm. The pool of blood that gathered from my aunt's knife work was as red as my own blood. With annoyance, I rise from my bed and over to my window. Judging be the deep indigo of the sky, it is late in the night. A glance at the clock on my wall confirms the hour, half past two. I grit my teeth and lean on my desk, staring down into the gardens. There is no motion outside except for the guards stationed every twenty yards of the perimeter. Whether they're keeping us in, or intruders out, I cannot say. In fact, I cannot even remember the last time I left my estate. Since returning home at the end of sixth year, I have not been out. Seven months. I've been a prisoner in my own home for seven months.

Seven months of torture, of deaths, of planning with the Dark Lord. Seven months of sharing my space with Death Eaters who hit and punish the house elves for sport-and when that loses its fun, each other. Seven months of Aunt Bellatrix's rabid devotion to all things Dark Lord, all things anti-muggleborn. I have never seen anyone follow someone around as blindly as she does, and I've grown up with the Golden Trio as a reference. Aunt Bellatrix and the Dark Lord make the bloody trio look as if they are completely independent from one another instead of pathetically co-dependent. I've seen the way Weasley pines after Granger, the way Potter makes it out of situations by the skin of his teeth because of his pals, the way that Granger seeks validation in the Machismo Twins, and it still cannot hold a candle to my aunt tripping over herself to please the Dark Lord. Frankly, whether she admits it or not, Aunt Bellatrix is in love with him. What a waste of time and emotion.

Absently, I touch the burn in my desk from Potter's note. 12 Grimmauld Place. I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, and am certain that Potter is having a go at me. We aren't friends. We're barely cold acquaintances. We have no reason to trust each other, and no reason to help each other. I roll my eyes and turn my back to the window Perhaps, if I will myself to sleep, it will work. I'll ask Snape for a Dreamless Sleep Draught over my dead body.

* * *

From where my window looks out, I have a clear view of our courtyard where my father's white peacocks strut, the rose gardens that twist into a labyrinth, and the wall surrounding the perimeter of my home. More importantly, I have a view of what lays beyond that wall, where there is a constant guard in place. No one may enter or leave without express permission, and the correct words to enter the wards safely. Apparation cannot best it, and you'd be a fool to try. I spend most of my days in the window seat, staring across this invisible-and not-so-invisible-border between me and the rest of the world. I know there are ways to clear it, if only I can go unnoticed for a period of time. Of course, this is not the case. While I'm in my home, there is no need to guard me. But none of us, mother, father, nor I, may go outside alone. We have all failed the Dark Lord in some manner: my father, arrested, my mother, soft-hearted, and myself, a failure. We are considered dangers to the Dark Movement, and no risks may be taken.

So instead, I lock myself away, like some sort of damsel in distress, awaiting her white horse. Except, it's only ever a peacock-useless and vain, much like my family. Now, of course, I have the added burden of wondering over Potter's brief and confusing note. Despite my misgivings with the Boy Wonder and his merry band of morons, I cannot help but think that he was earnest in his note. An attempt at noble valiance, ever the Gryffindor. It does not help that I made myself weak in front of them, allowed them an out in my own home. To turn them in would have meant certain forgiveness for our pasts. If I am found out, there will be no forgiveness. There will only be death. My blood runs cold at the thought, and I fore myself to think again on the three words sent to me.

I know I have heard those words before. I can almost place them, as the rove around in my mind. It's a street, evident in its name. The location of the street, though, is beyond me. We Malfoys may be worldly and travelled, but we rarely venture into other areas of England, choosing instead to go place like Majorca, France, Greece. Even if I were to get on the other side of these walls, how would I find the place? I throw a pillow against the wall, annoyed. It is ridiculous and tiring, pacing my room like a caged animal. There are no reprieves from the hell that my childhood home has become. If I leave my room, I am subjected to the buffoons my parents call colleagues; if I stay in my room, I drive myself mad with the solitude. There is no way out.

Until I remember the words I told Potter.

* * *

I have to wait for nightfall. It is the easiest time to lose track of things. The fog rolls in, fatigue settles among even the staunchest of guards, and the house falls silent. In this silence, I am careful to creep through the hall, down a servant's staircase and through a window in the kitchen.

"Master Malfoy," Mimi, a house elf, squeaks from the darkness. I jump and turn around. Of all of our elves, Mimi is my favorite. I have never agreed with my father's treatment of our elves-though I am not about to jump on Granger's SPEW train. I motion for her to lower her voice. "Where is you going?"

"Mimi," I whisper, "I have a very important and secret task that I need to do. You mustn't tell anyone that I have left the house, okay? If you are asked, you are to lie and tell them that you have not seen me. You are forbidden to tell anyone I am gone. When…when I come back, I shall reward you, okay?"

"Yes, Master Malfoy," she says sadly. "I is to tell no one. I is a good elf, I keep your secrets." I pat Mimi on the head.

"Thank you, Mimi," I say. "Now, off to bed!" I listen as she scampers back into her corner and then clamber through an open window, into the rose bushes. If I time it correctly, I can cross as the clouds cover the moon and cut off its light. Anxiously, I gnaw on my lip, waiting and urging the clouds to move more quickly. I am well aware of how it would look if I were to be found right now, crouched in the bushes with a bag over my shoulders. Finally, though, the clouds do as they threatened, and I streak across the yard to the old and unwatched gate that let the trio out the other day. As soon as I am through the gate, I am sucked upward and into the night before I have a chance to take a single breath.

* * *

I land hard with both feet and stumble forward. I am able to see only that I am in the entryway of an old and dingy house before a cloud raises from further inward and rushes at me. With horror, I realize that it is the essence of Dumbledore and I let out a horrified shout. Before it can make contact with me, it dissolves and I'm alone again in the hallway. My breathing is heavy as I try to get my bearings. Fucking Potter, it figures that he would bring me to this hellhole, alone except for the ghosts of my personal mistakes. I grind my teeth and shoulder my bag, taking stock of the area around me. There are plaque on the wall lining the staircase, though I cannot make out what they are. All around, portraits hang on the wall. I give them no thought, until I realize that they are moving. This is a wizard's home.

And then, I'm flush against the door, unable to move. Only my eyes move, and they dart around, trying to make sense of the gloom around me.

"Speak your name," a voice commands. Potter's voice.

"Malfoy," I croak, "Draco Malfoy. You sent me a note with this address and then it caught fire and disappeared." Instantly, the spell is dropped and I can move again. I let out a huge gust of breath and move forward, into the light. Potter stands at the tops of the stairs, wand still pointed at me as he descends.

"I'm surprised you're here," he says.

"Me, too," I admit. "Wherever _here_ is."

"You don't recognize your own family's stomping grounds?" he asks, surprise in his voice. That's it! The Black's house. If any of the portraits recognize me, I'm screwed.

"Oh," I say. "Not this hellscape version of it," I add quickly, sneer in place. Potter rolls his eyes as he steps off of the last stair.

"Well, that's what happens when your family abandons a home to pursue the torture of innocent-,"

"Don't act like you know a think about my family, Potter," I snap. "Is there a reason you sent for me, or did you just need a new target to annoy for a while? Take out some of your energy, since you and your pals can't wreak havoc at Hogwarts?"

We glare at each other for a moment, our faces eerily lit by the tip of Potter's wand. And then, he drops the wand and jerks his head toward the back of the hallway.

"Come on," he says. "We should talk." He turns and walks off, down the hall, and I follow begrudgingly. We enter into the kitchen, and I see that it is in the same state as the rest of the house-gloomy, worn-down, and covered by an attempt to make it more homey. Kreacher freezes in the corner as he sees me.

"Master Malfoy," he wheezes. "Such a surprise to see you-,"

"Kreacher," I say warningly, "You are to tell no one that I am here, are we understood?"

"You cannot tell anyone, portrait or living, that Malfoy is here," Potter reinforces. Kreacher glares at him for a moment and then bows.

"As the master wishes, but oh, how Kreacher wishes the Potter brat was not his master. No, Kreacher wishes to work for the most noble Black blood, oh yes," he mutters. My brow furrows as I listen to the elf.

_"You're_ his master, Potter?" I drawl. "Oh, Granger must love that."

"Long story," Potter says, "but yeah, this…this is my house now."

"You've got to me kidding me," I say tonelessly. "Harry Potter, undesirable number one, is living in the home of the Black family-no, _owns_ the home of the Black family? Merlin."

He drops into a seat at the long table, stretching his legs onto the seat across from him.

"We have some questions for you, Malfoy," Potter says. His voice is calm, curious. "You don't have to stay here, if you don't want to. But if you go back to you Death Eater father and all of his cronies and rat us out-,"

"We'll kill you," Weasley finishes from behind me. I wheel around and see the ginger nuisance standing in the doorway, holding his wand. Like Potter, there is no malice in his voice, but the threat is clear regardless. He moves to sit beside Potter, and they both stare at my, waiting.

"Where's Granger?" I ask. "You three are never far apart."

"She's recovering," Weasley snaps. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten what happened. Take a seat, Malfoy. We want some answers."


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't I at least get some tea?" I ask innocently. "My, my, what kind of host are you?"

"You have _got_ to be kidding right now," Weasley says. I shrug as I seat myself at the table. He glowers at me and then takes a seat directly across from me. He has not lowered his wand yet.

"This isn't a game, Malfoy," Potter says with grit teeth. "We just escaped from your manor, where Ron and I were locked up with Luna, Dean, Ollivander, and Griphook, and we had to listen to your aunt torture our best friend." We glare at each other silently until he finally sighs. "Kreacher, could you get the three of us some tea, please?" Kreacher appears from around the corner and shuffles toward the stove, muttering under his breath.

"Bloody arse," Weasley grouses.

"Me, or the elf?" I ask lightly.

"Both," he snaps back at me. Potter takes his glasses off and rubs his face tiredly. He doesn't immediately put them back on as he starts talking again.

"That's enough, both of you. Ron, I told you that you could be here as long as you were on your best behavior. As for you, Malfoy…well, I think that we are overdue for a talk." He pauses as Kreacher comes back through and unceremoniously drops a platter with mismatched teacups and a chipped teapot onto the table. He disappears before Potter can say another word. Potter makes a show of pouring for all three of us. We drink without speaking; the only sounds that can be heard come from the crackling fire and the settling bones of the house around us.

"What the hell was that when I came in?" I finally ask. "Some sort of crappy joke?"

"Guilty conscience, Malfoy?" Weasley jabs. I rise several inches, ready to reach across the table and throttle him, before Potter pushes me back down into my seat.

"Ron," he says warningly. Weasley holds up his hands in surrender and then crosses his arms. "It's additional security for the house," Potter explains. "Congratulations on passing test number one. That's not nearly enough, though. Care to explain what yesterday was all about?"

"It's a long story," I hedge. Potter mirrors Weasley's posture and sits back.

"We've got time," Weasley says. "Talk."

* * *

Potter shows me to the room where I'll be staying. Against my better judgement, I have chosen their side over my parents', and I am left with no other options. They kept me awake and talking until the sun began to rise; I could swear that at one point, I even felt Potter attempting Legilimency on me. Joke's on him-I've been learning to hide and compartmentalize since I was a toddler. Whatever tests and qualifiers they had set for me, it would appear that I passed all of them. We barely speak as he leads me through dingy hallways and staircases. This place needs a serious overhaul; I can only imagine what my mother would say if she could see the state of it. Then again, its previous owner had spent 13 years in prison, so I suppose that would lead to its demise.

"Where is Granger?" I ask curiously.

"Why do you need to know?" he asks me.

"Just making conversation, Potter," I tell him, "no need to bite my head off."

"She doesn't…just…let her find you, okay?" he asks. He stops in front of a door that has a Slytherin banner affixed to it. I quirk an eyebrow at the décor. "Yeah, we couldn't remove it," he mutters. Without another word, he leaves me alone in dark, musty hallway. I let out a long sigh and turn the knob.

The door swings open to reveal a well-kept room. There is more dust than I can begin to fathom, but a simple spell and the dust disappears. I light the wall sconces to better assess my surroundings. The walls are coats in a heavy, velvet damask wallpaper, silver and green. A canopied bed occupies the left wall of the room, flanked by a bookshelf on one side and a side table on the other. A window seat with a torn and faded cushion runs beneath the large window. My footsteps are muffled by a thick black carpet as I walk the room, taking in my new home. It is better than living in Gryffindor gold-and-maroon, and I'm thankful for that at least. It is also nothing like my room at the manor, for which I am even more thankful.

If I am calculating it correctly, my family will be rising soon. It will cause quite the stir when the youngest Malfoy does not make an appearance at breakfast. I know that it will throw my mother into a tailspin, and my father will receive the consequences for his wayward son. I am not so worried about my father-he has plenty of sins to atone for-but I do worry for my mother. She has always had fragile mental and emotional health. Perhaps I will send her a disguised letter once the initial fallout has settled. I would like her to know that her son is alive.

I scan the room with my wand twice to ensure that there are no traps or unfavorable spells before turning down the comforter of the bed and dropping into it. I have not slept in a home with no death, torture, or prisoners in years. Even at Hogwarts, I was surrounded by budding Death Eaters. It is odd to me that I find myself feeling my safest surrounded by the people I claimed to be my enemies. I roll my eyes and flop onto my side with a huff. The sun continues its ascent into the sky and I eventually fall asleep cocooned in the comforter.

* * *

A searing pain racing up my arm rips me from my sleep. I clutch my forearm, biting back a shout. The Dark Mark is raised, hot and angry. My absence has been discovered. This is the moment that will make or break my future. If I go back, I will have to play the part of repentant Death Eater and face the wrath of the Dark Lord. If I stay…I leave my family and join forces with a side I never once considered before. I have approximately forty seconds to make my decision. I chew on my lip uncomfortably, racing through the choices in my head. I can feel the seconds ticking away and then the moment has passed. My indecision has made a decision for me.

There is not a chance in hell that I will be able to sleep at all anymore. I throw the comforter aside and groan as my feet hit the floor. Any time the Mark has been pressed, it wreaks havoc on my entire system. Today is no exception. I rub my face with my hands and then rise slowly. I suppose I should count my blessings where I can get them. This place seems to be accessible by invite only, and is clearly well-guarded. Weasley and Potter are not much of a reassurance in terms of protection, but once Granger is up and moving again, it'll be better than nothing.

This house is a maze, but I eventually find my way to the kitchen. I am the only one awake at this hour, and I have to light a fire to fight off the chill that has worked its way into the home overnight. I jump when I hear shuffling beside me; when I turn to look, I see Kreacher standing there, wringing his hands.

"Kreacher is happy to have a sir of the noble Black family in this home again, yes he is, for too long it's just been blood traitors and mudbloods-,"

"That's enough out of you, I think," I cut him off coldly. "Blood means nothing, you little fool." The elf sucks in an angry breath but says nothing more. He shuffles away and I refocus on fixing tea and some toast.

"Did you mean it?" Potter's voice cuts through the silence and I jump again.

"Merlin, Potter," I snap, "a little warning might be nice." I hear him draw a chair out and drop into it.

"Make me a cup, would you?" he asks. I grit my teeth but do as he asks. "Did you mean it?" he repeats.

"Mean what?"

"What you said about blood meaning nothing."

"I'm here, aren't I?" I ask, placing the teapot and two cups on the table forcefully. The china rattles against each other. I sit across from Potter, pour a cup, and push it to him.

"And you didn't go back when he called," he concedes. I frown at him, and he points to the scar on his forehead. "It's like a window into what he's doing," he informs me. "I can feel his emotions and see what he is doing, at times. It's saved me on more than one occasion."

"Merlin," I mutter, taking a sip of my tea. I do not know what else to say, and I have no doubt that Potter will soon fill the silence. He doesn't seem the type of bloke who understands or appreciates a good silence. He sips on his tea for a few moments and then says,

"Listen, Ron and I have to run out to do something today. I dunno if Hermione is going to wake up in that time, but if she does…can you take care of her? We'll be back by nightfall, most likely, but in case we don't, I need to know she is safe."

"Where are you going?" I demand. I did not sign up to be Potter's personal babysitter when I left my family behind. My motivations were somewhat selfish in the way of saving Granger, but that does not mean that I intended to be tethered down like a sitting duck.

"Can't tell you, not that we would anyway," Weasley says as he enters. He carries two packs on his shoulders and sets one next to Potter. He moves to the cupboards, pulling out a can of beans and opening it. Dumping it into a pan on the stove, he says, "Hermione has been set up with her medi-potions for the day. We wrote it out, but she may wake up. She's been in and out over the last few hours. I wrote her a letter explaining where we went and why she is here. Do us a favor, ferret, and keep out of her way."

"Gladly," I snap, rising. "Enjoy whatever adventure you and Boy Wonder are going on. Try not to muck it up too much, Weasley." I knock my shoulder into his as I pass, satisfied when I hear the sound of pans crashing together.

* * *

Potter and Weasley leave shortly after, and I am left to wander the house by myself. It is a shame that is has been left to languish for so long. If I look hard enough, I can see the remnants of the splendor that used to be here. It does not take long for me to find Sirius' old room-red, gold, and gaudy-on the third floor. My guess is that this is where Potter sleeps. I open the door and peer inside, suspicions confirmed. His school trunk is open and the contents scatter everywhere. The room itself is one giant middle finger to the Black family. Gryffindor banners, pictures of him and his pals, red-and-gold décor, and stationary photographs make the room up. I can only imagine what his parents did to him when they discovered where he had been sorted.

Further down the hall, I find Weasley's room. It is less of a declaration of house loyalty, but has the tell-tale signs of a Gryffindor living there, down to the mess and the poor taste in quidditch teams. I shake my head and close his door. I hesitate before the next door I find, a plain mahogany door with a large brass knob. This is clearly Granger's room; the heat coming from under the door is a clear attempt to sweat out the toxins created by the _Cruciatus _curse. I knock lightly on the door before I can talk myself out of it. When there is no response, I crack the door open and look inside.

An everlasting fire has been lit in the fireplace, blue and steady. Granger lies in her bed, wrapped in a large comforter. A table filled with medi-potions sits next to her, as well as an unopened letter-Weasley's and Potter's letter. My fingers itch to open it and read it, but I quell the need. If I am indeed trying to better myself as a person, reading another person's letters is not the way to start. I enter the room cautiously and make my way over to her. She looks pale and clammy, the after-effects of being tortured. Her arm is wrapped in gauze, and my stomach drops guiltily. I know what is under that wrap.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, "so, so sorry."

I bolt out of the room without another word.


	4. Chapter 4

I avoid Granger's wing for the rest of the day. There are plenty of other areas in this house to search, and I want to get to know its secrets. I notice that ninety percent of the paintings in this house have been covered; my theory is that they have other portraits elsewhere that would potentially give away the location of this place. From what Potter was telling me, Grimmauld Place is accessibly by invite only. Before now, I don't believe I have ever been inside of this place. My mother's parents were incredibly cold and calculating, and had no problem with cutting their family members out. Aunt Andromeda was erased from the family tree forever the moment she took up with a muggle-born.

Kreacher skulks about as I wander, and more than once, I get the distinct feeling that he is checking in on me to make sure I am not getting into something. I manage to give him the slip as I climb a rickety staircase toward the attic. Elves are notoriously anxious creatures, and there is no way that he would bother with something that looks like it could give way at any moment. I draw my wand and illuminate the tip before climbing the final steps into the musty darkness. The gloom in here makes the rest of the house look positively sunny cheerful. I have to cover my mouth with my sleeve as I walk to avoid breathing in the plumes of dust that rise when I step.

Piles and piles of boxes and trunks create a labyrinth, and I am careful not to knock them over as I meander through the room. It doesn't look like a single living person has been in here for over a decade. The amount of Black heirlooms that could be hiding up here in innumerable; I search for a trunk to pass my time and land on a massive wooden truck, unremarkable except for the intricate brass lock.

"_Periculum obstructionum,"_ I whisper, waving my wand over the trunk. A shimmering veil of deep green settles around the outside, rendering any curses useless. As I point my wand at the lock, it sizzles and melts away. The trunk pops open and I draw nearer to it. Old clippings from the _Prophet_ are piled on the very top. The dates all bear the year 1842, and point to some project that Licorus Black was working on. I read through them all, and then toss them aside with a scoff. Each article boasts about the strength and intellect of Licorus, and applaud him for his work to eradicate muggleborns completely. Given the family motto, _Tojours Pur,_ I suppose I should not be as surprised as I am.

I continue digging through the trunk. Mouldering lace doilies and table runners are the next layer, followed by a moth-eaten cloak. A smaller box lines the bottom of the trunk, and I pull it out with difficulty. It is shockingly heavy for its size. The family crest is pressed into the top of the box, and it is locked shut firmly. No attempt to unlock it by magic will work. Undeterred, I set it near the door to bring with me when I leave; I doubt if anyone will notice a box from 1842 has gone missing from the attic. I throw the items back inside the trunk and slam it shut.

Several times more I repeat this, sifting through what seem to be hope chests filled with mementos and rotting cloths. I had hoped for something that may have been of interest, at least, but so far all that I have discovered is long-existing bigotry and ill-preserved clothing. I shut the trunk I am inspecting and make my way further into the attic. There is a corner where no light touches it, and I increase the amount of light that my wand produces. Shoved deep into the corner is a cabinet. I approach it hesitantly-my history with cabinets is not great-and shine the light onto it. It is magnificent, carved out of wood and inlayed with mother of pearl. The shimmering stone creates a mosaic of stars and moons. Among the stars, I find my own constellation, as well as each and every constellation within the Black family.

Just as I am about to open it, I hear a scream sound from downstairs. My stomach plummets to my toes as I hear it. It was a scream that I was hoping never to have to hear again. I bolt through the attic, grabbing the box as I do, and down the stairs towards Granger's room, taking the steps two at a time. I skid to a stop outside of her room where the screaming has intensified. I knock hard at the door but do not wait for her to answer before I enter.

Granger lays in her bed, thrashing. Her eyes are closed and sweat beads on her forehead. A nightmare. I glance toward the table of potions, which seems to be untouched. Quickly, I fumble through to find a Calming Draught. Without thinking about it, I uncork it and pour it into her open mouth. She gurgles through another scream and then they subside. Granger's chest still heaves with her breath, but already the effect has settled in on her. I place my hands on her shoulders to hold her still.

"You're okay, Granger," I tell her. "You're safe here." I brush her hair off of her face and my hand comes away slick with her sweat. She whimpers lightly and turns to lay on her side. Slowly, she blinks one, two, three times, and then opens her eyes. When she sees me, her breath hitches. "It's…okay," I repeat unsurely. "Potter knows-,"

"Get. Out."

* * *

"Stupid Granger," I grind out, throwing a ball at the wall. It bounces violently back at me, and I repeat the motion again. After my run-in with Granger, I have sequestered myself away in my room until Potter and Weasley return from whatever idiotic hero task they've set themselves to. I rest on my bed, chucking a rubber ball to the wall. The sound of it hitting the wall and springing back is enough to take some frustration out, but I know that before long, I am going to lose my mind here. "Stupid Potter and Weasley." _Bounce._ "Stupid Dark Lord and his stupid Death Eater followers." _Bounce_. "My stupid parents for getting us caught up in this shit in the first place." _Bounce_. "Stupid….everything." I do not catch the ball when it comes careening back at me. I know that it is not fair for me to be as irritated as I am, but I cannot help it. I have been here less than 24 hours and have already gotten three death threats and kicked out when I was checking in on Granger. I suppose that in fairness to Granger, though, it was _my_ home where she tortured by _my_ family. I don't think I'd be too keen on seeing me, either.

Am I a fool for defecting? I do not know what I was thinking. Perhaps I wasn't thinking when I left. I left on a whim, an emotion, an impulse-like a foolish lion instead of a cunning snake. Maybe my father was right. Maybe I was sorted into the wrong house.

_You picked a fine time to have an identity crisis,_ a snide voice picks at me. _Right in the middle of a lion's den at the heart of a war. _I flop myself down onto my bed with a groan, and then sit back up almost immediately. It sounds like shouting coming from downstairs. I open the door carefully and listen. The muffled sounds of Granger yelling and Potter and Weasley feebly trying to talk float up the staircase. Three guess what she is yelling about. Or rather, whom. I creep down the stairs carefully in my sock feet in an attempt to make no noise. Their words become clearer as I do, and I realize that they are sitting in the parlor. The flickering flames from the fireplace cast shadows in the hallway.

"-and of _all_ the people in the world, _him? _What on earth were you thinking?" Granger shouts. Her voice is weak from the past couple of days, but I'm willing to bet every last galleon in my account that she found a Pepper-Up Potion and an Essence of Consciousness.

"We didn't think it was a good idea at first either, Hermione, but I really think he might be telling the truth," Potter says.

"The ferret did rescue us," Weasley admits begrudgingly.

"Yeah, _after_ his psychopathic aunt tortured me to the brink of shock!" she cries out. I cringe-it really was that bad. I wish she was exaggerating.

"You don't have to be happy about it-," Potter says.

"-I'm _not_-," Granger interjects.

"-But he's here now, and he's a liability to whatever side he chooses to go against," Potter continues. I creep down the steps further, holding my breath and praying that the stairs don't creak. As lightly as I can, I tiptoe to the landing of the stairs, hiding in the shadows.

"Yes," Granger says sarcastically, "because he could either rat out You-Know-Who to us, or he could rat out us to You-Know-Who. Hmm, I wonder which one is more likely? Well, you may as well come in here, Malfoy, stop hiding in the hallway!" she snaps. I start and my eyes dart around, looking for something that could have given away my location. I see nothing, and I enter the room slowly.

"How did you-," I start.

"-You're a terrible spy," she tells me flatly. "Honestly, how you ever were in Slytherin in beyond me. Well, except for the whole purist, elitist, evil ferret part." She crosses her arms, glaring at me, and winces when the bandaged forearm is jostled. My irritation with her vies for attention with yet another reminder that I am a failure on all fronts.

"Merlin, you really can't help yourself, can you?" I snap. "One thing doesn't go your way, and suddenly all hell breaks loose. I'm sorry that Potter and Weasel snuck me in to this house while you were unconscious, and I'm sorry that I'm the one who had to play nurse to you, but that's how things go. Sometimes, things don't work the way that we want them to, and we just have to suck it up and move on. Haven't you noticed, Granger? Nothing is good anymore. Everything has gone to shit, and that's the new normal. Whether you like it or not, we are going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future. I'm sure it is no surprise that I'm not exactly flipping cartwheels around this god-forsaken dump of a home. But, that's where we are. Deal with it or don't, but it's not changing."

I am out of breath by the end of my rant. The two of us stand apart from one another, glaring. Potter and Weasley are uncharacteristically silent, and I spare a glance at them. They both shoot looks between each other, and then Granger and myself. Finally, it's Granger who breaks the silence.

"You, Draco Malfoy, are the most self-centered, spoiled brat. How dare you pretend that you're the put-upon victim in this scenario? Ron, Harry, and I have been through things that you could never begin to imagine, and almost exclusively at the hands of the people _you_ call family and friends. You'll have to excuse me if I am less than thrilled to see the face of the person who has made my life a living hell for the last seven years of my life! And Ron's and Harry's, for that matter! You are entitled to nothing more than exactly what you deserve, Malfoy, and you should thank Merlin that it is not a hex right now! _You_ may go to hell, or back to your precious Death Eater mummy and daddy, or whomever it is you choose, but you will _not_ storm in here like the Crown Prince himself and demand accommodation!"

We stand nearly nose to nose at this point, and I half-expect fire to come out of our eyes. I set my jaw, take a step back, and then say to Potter,

"You'd better come catch Granger. That Essence of Consciousness is about to wear off, and she's going to drop like a ton of bricks." As I turn to leave, I hear Potter dart forward and catch Granger before she hits the ground.

"How did you know that?" Weasley demands.

"Lucky guess," I throw over my shoulder before heading back up the stairs.


End file.
